


OK For Matt

by sasha_b



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Fluff, Gen, Humor, I Tried, Kink Meme, Matt is happy, Post-Season/Series 01, Schmoop, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's important?</p><p>Matt and Karen and Foggy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	OK For Matt

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on the DD kink meme (and it's a great prompt):
> 
>  
> 
> _So, for some reason it's really cold. Maybe the heating stopped working or a window's broken or they couldn't pay the electricity bill. Doesn't matter. It's cold. They all suffer, but try to do the best of the situation. Hot drinks. Blankets. Warm hats. Etc. They keep working though. Cause there's a deadline. Or something. I don't care._
> 
>  
> 
> _Basically I just want Matt to go sad face GRR sad sad frustrated GRR stupid stupid fingers GRRR why are my hands so useless sad sad dumb dumb everything because his hands are too numb with cold to read even braille. (Print he gave up on hours earlier.)_
> 
>  
> 
> _And Foggy and Karen's all "hey, c'mon, we'll fix this, this is totally fixable, why didn't you tell us before your hands turned into icicles you dummy?" and then they all... I dunno, head to Foggy's place and work there instead and eventually they all fall asleep platonically cuddling in the sofa._
> 
>  
> 
> _THE END_
> 
>  
> 
> and this one [truncated]:
> 
>  
> 
> _the show always has foggy or karen going to matt's place, which is fair because canonically karen hates her place and avoids it as much as she can, but i want to see foggy's apartment. my headcanon is that matt's apartment is laid out in a certain way that makes it very easy for him to maneuver, but foggy's apartment is ALSO basically arranged for matt. (have we seen foggy's place on the show yet? i forget, shit)_
> 
>  
> 
> _like._
> 
>  
> 
> _foggy got one of these things (braille labeler) a few years back and now all the leftovers in his fridge or whatever are labeled "KUNG PAO CHICKEN, OK FOR MATT" or "PINEAPPLE CAKE, NO MATT" or whatever. the note taped to the drawer on foggy's nightstand with his sex stuff just says "HAHAHA OPEN THIS DRAWER C'MON DO IT"_
> 
>  
> 
> _marci says she hates it but it's one of the reasons she really likes foggy_
> 
>  
> 
> _karen sees it for the first time when they all go over to warm up and she's like. uh. matt barely spends time at your place? and foggy's like: yeah, but when he does, nbd._
> 
>  
> 
> _AND THEN PLATONIC WORK CUDDLES_
> 
>  
> 
> I tried to use these awesome suggestions as a guide. Didn't quite get all of them but I hope the OP's are okay with it.
> 
> Let's assume Karen still doesn't know about Matt's secret identity.

Foggy’s head dips toward his chin and his eyebrows rise. Karen’s lips twist and she shuts the door to the office a bit too hard, her boot heel connecting with the metal plate that stops the door from splintering when it hits the jamb.

“What?”

“Nice hat. Did you bring one for me?”

She balances the tray of coffees in her right hand and fishes for her purse with the left, the Yankees beanie she wears accenting the lightness of hair prettily. “Actually,” she says brightly, the tone - Foggy winces as she slams the drinks and her purse down on her desk with a decibel defying crash – “I did.”

She jerks two knitted things out of her bag and clicks closer to Foggy, breath steaming in the chill air, the smile on her face predatory. Foggy raises his hands and the folders in his lap shift, a trembling starting in the paper that if he … just… holds…still… won’t turn into a mount Saint Helen’s size avalanche.

So he can’t say anything or move when Karen plunks the bright red Red Sox winter hat on his head, the puffball almost as big as the rest of the hat.

“Uh…thanks, Karen.” She pats his cold cheek and turns toward the thermostat. “Still out?”

“Yes,” Matt’s voice floats into Foggy’s office from the other side of the suite. “Did you bring coffee?”

He can smell it, had heard her wrangling with the cardboard holder from the street, but he slips his glasses on and runs one icy, dead-feeling hand along the wall as he joins her next to her desk as though he hadn’t known. She hands him his latte and lifts her own to her mouth; they both take a simultaneous sip and sigh, his murmured _thank you_ answered with a pat to his shoulder. Matt loves their office (he loves his city, wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else) but some days he really _hates_ being the new guys on the block despite having gained notoriety when they’d put Fisk away. Which he won’t think of currently, as he’s freezing and they have about one and a half more cases to bill before they can get the damn heat paid off and can stop chattering like a barrel full of monkeys from the igloo that they’re currently ensconced in. Nelson and Murdock, ice cubes at law.

“I hate to be a pain,” Foggy says, and Matt reminds himself to tell Foggy to get to the dentist before the crown over his third molar cracks (the chattering is getting to all of them), “but can someone bring me a coffee? Or clean up this mess that’s about to – ”

The rumble of paper and laptop and folders and the inherent, all-encompassing _SHIT_ that rips out of Foggy’s mouth forces Matt to cover his own; laughing now would be a bad idea.

But Karen does, and Matt decides it’s okay to join in, and they both help to pull Foggy from the wreckage of his office and the files they’ve been obsessively going through for three days. Matt’s tired, but he smiles and cricks his neck and tries to remember the last time he’s slept more than about three hours at a time. Being Daredevil and being Matt Murdock, attorney, all at once is not a job he really had thought through too well. But...it’s what he needs to do. What he’s the best at. What he’s proud to do.

Damn, he’s tired. And so cold he can’t work his hands.

Matt winds his fingers together (the cold is not kind to trying to read braille; he’d given up on his reading software when his head continued to pound despite swallowing enough aspirin to choke a horse) and tries to stop them from shaking as Foggy slugs on his mocha like it’s whiskey and Karen attempts to right the hat that’s slid almost all the way off Foggy’s ridiculously thick hair. 

Foggy tries to dodge and slips in a pile of paper that’s slid almost all the way to the corner of his office, pinwheeling his free arm, and Karen just lets him flail. Matt sticks out an (ostensibly) random arm and Foggy grasps it, shaking from the surprise and the cold, the blanket he’d had wrapped around his shoulders falling to the floor.

“Thanks, buddy.” 

Matt lets go of him and uses the hand to fix the fallen Sox hat, flexing his frozen fingers on the thick fabric. He cocks his head.

“New look?”

“Shut up, Murdock.”

“Oh, right,” Karen interjects. She crosses to the desk and removes another knitted object, and before he can open his mouth more than a few inches she jerks another cap over Matt’s head, smashing his hair, the right earpiece of his glasses coming askew and pinching the shit out of the bridge of his nose.

He can tell they’re standing in a line across from him, staring at him, their shoulders together as all three of them remain still in the sea of typed words and paper.

He slowly raises his right hand, ignoring the tremble and deadness from trying to read his texts for so long in the chill of their office, and fixes his glasses.

“At least the Sox won a few games. Mets, Matt? Really?” Foggy turns to Karen. “On purpose?”

She nods. “Of course. It’s good for the partners at Nelson and Murdock to show support for all our surrounding neighbors.” 

Matt gives her credit; she doesn’t crack a smile (her laughter is a sweet sound) until Foggy sighs and drops his bright-ass red hat into the mess of folders on the floor. The windows in the office are stuffed with newspaper and Matt’s sick of the smell of mildewing newsprint and his stomach aches from the amount of coffee he’s drunk and he can imagine the other two are over wearing pretty much all the clothing they own.

He opens his mouth but Foggy beats him to it.

“Let’s go to my place.”

*

Foggy’s apartment is near Matt’s, but when Matt _hrmmss_ under his breath about not having cranked up the radiator Foggy frowns hard enough to almost give Matt a headache. “Another reason for us to abscond to chez Foggy. And yeah, I said ‘chez.’ Leave it,” he raises a hand before Karen can laugh at him. Matt stops smirking when Foggy punches him in the shoulder.

It’s a chilly quick walk; the three of them huddle as close together as possible, the grey sky thick and ominous and Matt lets Karen tuck his hand under her arm, _tack tack-ing_ the ground in front of him with his cane. Foggy’s heart speeds and just as Matt is tasting the acid-familiar guilt burn in his gut, the beating slows. Foggy touches his elbow and they turn into the small stairwell that leads to _chez Foggy_ and the third floor.

*

It’s been too long. Matt smiles the moment Foggy opens the door; the smell of pizza, cardboard boxes, three day old half eaten tuna fish from the corner market and a slowly dying houseplant hits him and his grin broadens. The furniture is old but serviceable and Matt gets a whiff of the chair that sits by the TV, its ancient chintz fibers turning his memories to _how do you say lawyer in Spanish?_ and _You must be my roomie!_ and his shoulder (one of the perks of being a hero; he snorts) aches as they all shove into the apartment and the wonderful sound of the heater running.

“I get first shower,” Karen practically screams as they all shudder in the wake of the heat blowing on them after Foggy closes the door.

“Sure,” Foggy says, immediately tearing his new hat off, his apologetic _it’s warm enough_ and his shrug allows Matt to do the same. Karen huffs, but her beanie soon joins the pile of winter clothing and accessories.

Foggy takes Karen to the bathroom, pointing out a few things he’s really proud of _my free bagel box from Landman and Zack!_ on the way, and Matt collapses on the couch, happy to be warm for the first time in what seems a million years.

He flexes his fingers and, focusing on them, doesn’t pay attention the face he’s making or the fact that –

“Foggy!”

“Shit, Murdock, you have super senses – didn’t you hear me coming?” Foggy slumps next to Matt, having changed out of his suit and put on sweats. He’s tetchy; Matt rubs at his hands and sighs. “I’m tired, Foggy.”

Admitting that sucks, and it makes him blush, and Matt gets up and makes his way to the fridge, where he’s hoping he can hide his face and find something to eat, the distraction also allowing him to get away from Foggy’s mildly crabby attitude. 

Foggy sighs and leans forward, grabbing up his laptop, powering it up. They can both hear the shower going, and Matt sticks his head and hands inside the fridge, the cool of it re-freezing his hands, but not until he finds – 

“Hey, there’s cake in there.”

Matt takes up the first container of Tupperware (ah, the Nelsons. Or more specifically, Foggy’s mom.) and runs his hands along the seam, ready to open it to see what it is (old casserole? Dry croissant?) but his fingers hesitate as he finds the label in braille on the outside of the container.

His smile is gentle. 

_Ok for Matt. Pineapple cake_

Without saying anything he puts it to the side, and lifts out more food. He can hear Foggy rustling around and talking to himself _his deodorant is wearing off_ as he pulls out another Tupperware while the shower runs and Karen sings (Night Ranger). His hands ache, but still he pulls out food and still his smile grows.

_Squash casserole, no cheese. Ok for Matt_

_Deviled eggs ok for Matt_

_Hummus and crackers ok for Matt_

_Chicken salad ok for Matt_

_Ok for Matt_

_Ok for Matt_

_Ok for Matt_

Matt straightens up, his back hurting and his fingers frozen again, Tupperware containers of too many _ok for Matt_ ’s surrounding him, the engine from the fridge kicking on since he’s had the door open for so long. He has to roll his lips under to keep from saying or doing _or feeling; be honest, Matt_ something that he’ll regret.

“Foggy?”

“Yeah?” 

“Was your mom here recently?”

“Yeah,” Foggy answers, paper in his mouth making his words muffled. Matt puts most of the containers back, and winds his way carefully (table, chair, bookcase) back toward the other man with two container and two spoons. 

He puts the Tupperware down on the coffee table and hands Foggy a spoon. “Pineapple cake,” he says, flexing his hands and blowing on them. The shower in the background stops, and Foggy looks up at Matt and smiles.

“She loves you, you know.”

Matt nods and scoops out a huge bite of cake. “I know.” He shoves it into his mouth in order to not say what he’s feeling.

“They miss you.”

“I can’t endanger them, Foggy.”

“You wouldn’t,” Foggy says, scraping a hand through his hair, and then taking a bite of his own cake. His tone is short and to the point and Matt is sure he means well, but the feeling behind them…Foggy’s heart thuds quickly and Matt bites the inside of his cheek.

_I wouldn’t hide this from you. Not from you._

Foggy sighs around a mouthful of fruit and sugar. “So good. I need her to think you’re coming over here more often.” He swallows and stares up at Matt again. “You _need_ to come over here more often.”

Matt’s cheeks are full of cake so he nods; his own heart speeds with the rush of sugar to his blood stream and liver and he’s thankful for the reason to not talk.

“We need to get this research straightened out,” Foggy veers around the subject, scratching his chin, the rasping sound sandpaper to Matt. 

The door to the bathroom opens; Karen steps through Foggy’s bedroom and sticks her wet head around the door to the living room. “Can I use your hair dryer?”

Matt grins and Foggy’s blush forces the dilation of the veins in his face; the speeding river of fluid under Foggy’s skin is familiar and Matt feels guiltier he’s been away from this for so long.

“Yes. Thanks a lot, Karen.”

She disappears back into the room and Matt allows a small laugh to come, patting Foggy on the shoulder with his left hand. Snow has begun to fall outside, the fat dark clouds making good on their threats. Ozone and ice and dirt and smog and Hell’s Kitchen sears the inside of Matt’s nose and he turns his head toward the closed window, the slight burning odor from the heater competing with _winter_ and he realizes he hasn’t tried the suit in the snow, yet.

“Jesus, Matt, your fingers are ice.”

“It’s cold out,” he answers, shrugging. He flexes them again and grimaces.

“Give me those,” Foggy grouses, and before Matt can jerk his hands away Foggy’s chafing them between his own.

The other man’s breath is harsh and close and despite himself, despite his strength and senses and despite everything that’s happened lately, Matt can’t move. He can’t pull away, he can’t not want the contact, and besides, his fingers _are_ freaking cold. He was lucky he could read the braille labels in the fridge. 

_focus_

“No,” he says out loud, silencing the inner voice of worry and doubt and _Daredevil_ , but since Foggy doesn’t know that, he merely grunts and tugs Matt’s hands closer to him and his body heat.

Foggy smells like home and comfort and the _thump bump_ of his heart and his blood _song_ lulls Matt into a stupor – not a good idea, but this man is his family and has been for a really long time.

“Avocados,” he adds, and Foggy’s answering grin is the sun, bright and Matt basks in its heat, better than any gas powered thing, more real than the warmth from any radiator. It feels good to know the muscles that line Foggy’s face are being used to smile – Matt lets him rub his hands and they sit there, not speaking, just being happy around one another until

_SHRIEK_

“Karen,” they both say, Matt loudly, both of them rising and bumbling over one another to the bedroom, where she’s standing and staring at the drawer she’s just open.

The room is messy but ultimately so Foggy that Matt has that feeling of transportation again; the old cotton sheets, his pile of flannels like those that had constantly lined the floor of their dorm room (Matt reminds himself to tell Foggy yet again cologne does NOT cover the smell of unwashed New Yorker), the print of Monet that Matt recognizes by feeling the edge of the frame. He finds the crack his drunken head had put there one night after finals and his grin is fierce and he turns to the other two to retell the story but stops when he hears the words “…sex toys!”

“Honestly, Karen, why would you think I’d keep my dryer in here??” Foggy sounds as embarrassed as Matt’s ever heard him, and he cocks an eyebrow that raises, an exclamation behind his round glasses. “Wait,” he interrupts as Foggy is trying to _pshaawww_ off his having a drawer that includes a woman’s…er…right hand man, as Marci had termed it. He feels the top of the bureau, looking for –

“Seriously, Foggy.”

“I haven’t gotten any new furniture in a long time, Matt! Don’t make fun. And besides, it’s not like Karen can read braille,” he trails off, pathetically wringing his hands, Karen’s laughter now overwhelming Foggy’s tirade. Matt turns and crosses his arms. “This is why you buy new things when you finish college.” He tries to seem stern, but when Karen’s now warm hand touches his arm and she begs him to tell her what the labeled strip of braille says on the drawer, he can’t help but feel his lips turn up as he says, “‘Haha open this drawer, come on, do it.’”

Karen turns to Foggy, her hair wrapped in a towel still. “One of these days I will _pay_ you both to tell me what happened at Columbia.”

Foggy slams the incriminating drawer shut and slings an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “Not for all the coffee in the city, Karen.”

They laugh, and it’s warmer than the heater, warmer than the gloves he’s been wearing, warmer than the caffeine they’d been mainlining for the past three days.

*

The sun’s gone down, and Matt stands at the window, scraping a fingernail over the condensation on the glass as Karen and Foggy sleep, tangled foot to head on the couch. Matt thinks he ought to wake them; Karen’s stomach is growling, and Foggy needs to drink more water than coffee if he expects to ever have normal kidneys. But he wants to let them rest, and so he does, listening to the city through the sound of the heater and the fridge ticking and the paper rustling from the strength of Foggy’s sleep-slow breath.

He should go out. He should go out and patrol and make sure things are on the up and up, should check in on Fisk’s old territories – no one’s heard from his woman, and things shouldn’t be left alone for too long. He needs to try the suit in snow, too, clasping his hands, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of being out there, doing what he knows is the right thing.

Maybe he can see Claire too. Maybe without being hurt. No matter that it’s not a good idea –

He rolls his head on the window, his hair crunching on the glass, dampness seeping into his skin. He has everything he wants, here, but.

But, but. There’s always a but.

Foggy snorts and turns over, and Matt licks his lips and turns back to the couch, listening to his friends, his family, this time. Crinkling clothing, the squeak of the couch fabric, Karen’s bare feet rubbing together (her skin is dry), Foggy gritting his teeth.

_Ok for Matt._

He slips past the document-covered table and sits on the floor, facing the couch and his sleeping friends. He lifts his now warm hands and places the right one on Karen’s hip, and then the left one on Foggy’s back.

He doesn’t need a braille labeler or super senses or anything else to know what’s under his fingers. 

He closes his eyes and the _focus_ lets him go deeper and he’ll check on his city tomorrow night. He owes this part of it a lot too, and this part deserves being cared for. Daredevil understands that.

Matt smiles as the heater clicks back on and his fingers tighten on Foggy and Karen.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear reader, please forgive me for not living up to this awesome prompt, but I wanted to do it soooo badly, I had to try. I'm not really good at humor and this feels weird to me, but I sure enjoyed doing it. Thanks so much to the OP for letting me participate.
> 
> Feedback is love.


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